


The Telling of Tales

by vomit_bunny



Category: Arthurian Mythology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 20:59:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vomit_bunny/pseuds/vomit_bunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When men tell tales they tell of what they know and of what they believe</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Telling of Tales

**Author's Note:**

  * For [distira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/distira/gifts).



  
  
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Bear witness to the bard Myrddin, here he dwells driven to despair.  
Madness it is his malady; he sees the shimmering shifting,  
Of so many futures that come, until the end unchanging.  
So now he hides himself away; so neglectful of his duties,  
Careful to keep no company, save sights of a great kings demise. |   
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He was sitting in his chambers and he would sit alone, as was his custom, for the door was barred and the window shuttered tight. However, he had one guest, for there is one man to whom a barred door is no obstacle. So it was Emrys, the weaver of wonders, who sat with him in his chambers. And Myrddin sat by the fire on a pile of old rushes, and a blanket of grey-brown wool beneath him, and an old cloak of brown wool over his shoulders.  
"I would offer you some meal," said Myrddin, "I only have ale and old bread, but you are welcome to it. And we could talk and you could tell me why you seek my company."  
After a time, and as it was clear his guest would not speak, Myrddin rose to fetch the food and brought back to the fire the bread and the ale and a clay cup from which they could drink. And he brought a wooden bowl filled with water and worn linen cloth so they could wash.  
"What would you have me say?" asked Myrddin. "Some fancy to pass the long hours of this long night?"  
And Emrys did not speak.  
"What would you have me say?" Again asked Myrddin. "Shall I tell you a tale of great warriors and their great deeds?"  
And Emrys did not speak and now it was as though the silence rang through the chamber.  
"What would you have me say?" For a third time asked Myrddin this question of his guest. "For what reason would you seek my counsel?"  
"I would have you tell me what you see," said Emrys, and as he spoke it seemed that his voice swelled until it was more than just his own.  
"I see a crooked river and the death of a great king," said Myrddin.  
"You see the death of Arthur," said Emrys and the more he spoke the more voices joined his until it felt like the crashing of the sea against Mryddin's ears.  
"You are too cruel," said Myrddin and curled in upon himself. "You would have me tell you that which troubles me so."  
"No, for I see it pains you too greatly," said Emrys. "Tell me another tale of things you see."  
"I see Sir Lancelot, lost in the forest.  
---  
  
  
  
  
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More snow has fallen since he set out and the wind is blowing hard covering any tracks that Lancelot's quarry may have left. Soon he's forced to dismount, the path being too unclear, and must continue on foot between the frosted trees. The soft memory of warm hearths and spiced ale is fading fast from his mind as he walks on in the cold. In the poor light all the forest looks the same and sinister, and not for the first time he wishes he hadn't taken on this task.  
The wind blows hard all of a sudden, gripping the edges of his surcoat and whipping it against his legs. He ducks against the onslaught and presses forward, until the gale dies down and he can look about him.  
Here the tracks are clearer, signs of two men leading their mounts having crossed a wide ditch that runs through the ancient forest, and for the first time in hours he feels that there may be some end to his quest.  
It is Lancelot's left foot that gives way first on the frozen grass as he steps down the embankment, and that would have been the end of it were he not holding tightly to the horses reins as he slipped. As it is the beast protests, whinnies loudly, and wrenches its head back until his right foot is pulled from beneath him too. He ends up lying on his back at the bottom of the frost filled ditch, his fine surcoat tangled in a young holy sapling that's growing up among the weeds. His horse watches him, unmoved, silhouetted against a dark and leaden sky.  
After a moment it begins to snow.  
"My squire hoped you were some marvel come to interrupt our meal," calls a voice from the edge of the ditch.  
Lancelot turns his head and spots Gawain, who it seems has forsaken his surcoat in favour of a thick woollen cloak, crouching at the top of the embankment and fixing Lancelot with a thoughtful gaze.  
"Imagine my surprise when I found good Sir Lancelot instead."  
"Sir Gawain."  
"My lord." Gawain nods. "I would have thought you knew better than to set out in fine linen in weather like this, then again I thought you would know not to tumble into holly bushes."  
"And I thought you more courteous than this," Lancelot calls back.  
"No you didn't," Gawain laughs, sliding carefully into the ditch. "And I have listened for some hours to my brother complain; my courtesy has long since abandoned me."  
"Gaheris is with you?" Lancelot asks as Gawain grips his forearm tightly and helps him from the snow.  
"There, now the minstrels can sing of how fair Lancelot fell into ditch but came out unsullied." Gawain remarks as he brushes the frost roughly from Lancelot's side and pulls his surcoat free. "And no, Gaheris has declared himself too old for such childish pursuits as ours this night. So I stole Gareth away from the kitchens and Sir Kay's watchful eye."  
"You would bring Beaumains with you into this foul weather?"  
"Please," Gawain says tiredly, and the tone speaks of long hours of conversation on the matter, "don't call him that." |   
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Emrys raised a hand and when Myrddin looked upon him he looked into his eyes and it seemed that he was all and nothing at once, he was ancient beyond ages and a fair faced youth. And before Myrddin an old man bent by a long life, and a woodcutter, and general who bore the purple of a higher station, and a giant, and a bear whose claws dug into the wooden floor, and a lord, and simple servant in a blue tunic. All this and more he saw in an instant and it weighed too heavily on his mind. So Myrddin looked away and said, "Lord? What is it?"  
"This is not the Gawain that other bards talk of," said Emrys, "I would not have you deceive me with your account." And with that he stood.  
Myrddin said, "by my faith, I do not. Other men would tell you that he is the best and the most courteous of Arthur's knights and he is rash and brash and quick to anger. But I shall give you a truth and Gawain is but a man," said Myrddin. "and as any man he is made of both his virtues and his faults."  
So Emrys sat and listened.  
---  
  
  
  
  
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Gawain catches hold of the reins of Lancelot's horse and stills it somewhat. "You should treat your horses better," he remarks as he rubs a gloved hand down its forehead.  
"Gawain." Lancelot ignores what his companion says and instead asks, "why are you here?"  
"We came for the hunt," Gawain says without explaining as he guides Lancelot and his mount carefully up the weather worn embankment. "Now, I have answered your questions, you should answer mine."  
"Of course," Lancelot agrees as they begin to walk through the forest, under branches heavy with snow.  
"What brings you into this awful night when you could sit in splendid halls and celebrate Yuletide in more befitting ways and with better company?"  
"The king worries," Lancelot replies. |   
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Arthur was full grieved, for despite the season, his nephew, Sir Gawain, did not honour him with attendance at the great feast. And the king feared that some malady or trouble had befallen Sir Gawain. So the king sought out Sir Lancelot and went unto the knight to command his help. Sir, said Arthur, you are my noble knight and I have some task that may not seem worthy of you but I would bid you leave these festivities and find Sir Gawain who is not to be found within all of Camelot. When Sir Lancelot saw that king Arthur was so troubled he thought poorly of Sir Gawain and also feared for him. Sir, said Sir Lancelot, I will do as you bid. And therewith Sir Lancelot departed and did do as Arthur desired. |   
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Gawain rubs at his neck self consciously and bows his head as they walk on. "I did not think we would cause such a commotion," he admits. "I thought at worst Arthur would likely fear we would witness some wonder that he would miss. Anyway, since you have so nobly given up your place at the high table tonight, you shall have a share of our hospitality."  
Soon Lancelot spies a fire, a young boy crouching by the flames, and just beyond that two horses tethered to a tree, a blanket thrown across their backs.  
"I've uncovered your marvel," Gawain calls to his brother.  
If Gareth is disappointed that it is Lancelot that Gawain returns with rather than some beast or forest sprite he doesn't show it, running and embracing him enthusiastically.  
"Come sit with us," Gareth says excitedly, taking Lancelot's hand and tugging him towards the warmth of the small fire.  
"Where are your dogs?"  
"Tucked up under their blankets in the kennels and a sight warmer than we are, I would imagine," Gawain replies as he secures Lancelot's mount with his own and Gareth's, slipping another blanket over their backs.  
Lancelot cranes his neck to look back at the other knight and frowns. "But surely," he says, "you said you came to hunt?"  
"For the wild hunt," Gawain corrects as he takes up a spot by the fire  
"The boys in the kitchen talk about it," Gareth explains eagerly. "In winter when the wind howls they say it's the monstrous hunt riding out to catch the souls of the dead." And as he speaks his eyes widen with excitement and gleam in the firelight.  
Lancelot looks over over the top of Gareth's head and raises an eyebrow in question at Gawain who just shrugs.  
"However, it since it seems we have been denied one this night we should tell as tale of some past marvel before we eat."  
"I have one," Gareth says.  
"You have a story of miraculous wonder?" Gawain asks dubiously. |   
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It was a night such as this but all the court was in attendance for the revels of the season. There were tournaments and great games during the day, while the nights were filled with fine food and good talk. And at the high table sat youthful fair faced Arthur, filled with such gaiety and gladness that it shone from his eyes. At his side sat Guinevere his Queen and beside her sat the King's valiant knight the good Sir Gawain. The hall was filled with men of honour, seated awaiting to sup, the first course served before them. When there came a crashing from door and there stepped forward a monstrous sight, a man all gowned in green and a great axe at his back. He threw down his weapon and a wild wager before the king, and Arthur, who was so fine and fearless, picked up the challenge and the axe. But good Sir Gawain called out and stopped his king, would beg his favour to take the challenge in his stead, for his life was less worthy than his lord's. And all agreed that Gawain was honourable and courteous and should be praised properly for his courage. So Gawain grasped the great axe and took such a sturdy swing that bone broke and sinew snapped. He cleaved the knights neck neatly and bit into the stone beneath him. The knight's head rolled across the floor and blood poured from his neck, so much that it lapped at the ladies' skirts, and swept seven serving boys from the hall. But the knight did not die. He held up his head and spoke to good Sir Gawain and bid him go to the green chapel in a year and a day where he would be welcomed in kind. Arthur and Gawain did laugh to witness so wondrous a sight, but all the hall was greatly shocked and Guinevere stood and stepped  
Forward fearfully,  
"Fear not, my lady, Sir Gawain shows no sign of regret,"  
Arthur said and took his Queen to her seat,  
"See this is some great a marvel we'll not forget,  
"So we shall be joyous and at last sit and go to meat." |   
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"And so should we," Gareth pronounces.  
"You can think of food now?" Gawain asks.  
Gareth shrugs and chews on his thumbnail until Gawain nods.  
"Are all your stories are about fighting and fierce warriors?" Lancelot leans over and asks quietly, as Gareth ransacks his brother's pack. "I would tell him something of romance and the subtleties of love.  
"I suppose his verse would be greatly improved if it was all done for the favour of some virtuous lady?"  
Whether Lancelot has an answer or not Gawain never finds out as Gareth suddenly cries out triumphantly and holds up a leather wrapped bundle.  
"Tell me," Gawain says as his brother picks at knots of the parcel's strapping, "have you ever struck at a man's neck and separated his head from his shoulders?"  
Gareth frowns but doesn't look up from his task. "No."  
"Pray that you never do. And perhaps you would do well to remember stories as they are told to you."  
This provokes a huffing noise from Gareth but little else. "When I'm a knight," he says after a moment.  
"And a fine knight you'll be," Lancelot says as he gently takes the bundle from the boy's hand and unknots the leather laces.  
"Then I shall defeat the green knight. Properly," he adds at his brother's amused expression. "And black knight, and a blue knight. And a red one, too."  
Suddenly the wind springs up again and howls through the trees.  
"Well, with that we should eat. There are sweetmeats and other delights befitting the season in Arthur's halls tonight," Gawain says as he draws a piece of leather around his hand and pulls a small pipkin from the fire. "While we may offer you pottage, I think, and what I can say with more certainty," he adds and nods to the parcel in Lancelot's hands, "is salted beef and bread."  
"Who am I to turn down such hospitality?" Lancelot replies smiling.  
"Well said."  
It's as Gawain lifts a piece of bread to his lips that they see it.  
"It appears we shall have your hunt after all," Lancelot says as he pushes himself up from the ground and reaches for his sword.  
"And our marvel, it would seem."  
For at the edge of the clearing stands a full grown hind of pure white, some twelve hands to the shoulder at least. And around its head sits a crown of holly.  
"Draw your blade, Gareth, and watch the horses." Gawain says, as he lights a torch in the flames of the fire, his free hand already moving to the hilt of his own sword.  
"But Brother!"  
"I didn't bring a squire so I could tend to the horses myself."  
"But-"  
"Stay," Gawain calls back firmly as he and Lancelot step between the trees after the beast. "Stay with the horses."  
They follow the hind as it twists through the trees, its startling coat catching the light of their torch. When they stray too far behind and are in danger of losing their way it seems to pause for them and look back until they draw nearer again. Until at last it slips through a thicket of trees and disappears from sight. Having come this far, and seeing no reason to turn back, Gawain and Lancelot follow.  
There, in the tiny clearing that they find, stands not a hind but a fine lady dressed in fine white silk, a crown of holly around her head.  
"My lady," the knights say and bow courteously to her.  
"For saving me I would give you a gift, some token befitting two fine knights," she says at last.  
"My lady," Lancelot protests, "we would be honoured, but we merely found you in this place."  
"I shall give you a test then, to see if you are worthy of the gratitude I already feel for you," she presses. And when neither man objects she continues, "you must return to these woods each night until the New Year comes and-"  
Gareth comes tumbling and crashing through the undergrowth and falls in a heap at their feet.  
Unshaken she steps forward and gently helps the boy the stand. "And what test should you face?" she asks.  
If Gareth has an answer it is unclear for all that comes from the boy's mouth is a stuttering jumble, and the lady smiles at him.  
"No test, I think, for so noble a squire who would charge in and rescue his lords, I shall give you a gift now." And saying so she kisses him softly.  
"My lords," she says, "return to these woods each night until the New Year comes and I shall reward you." And as she speaks she slips between the trees, her voice drifting away like the wind, and she is gone.  
"You are quite flushed," Gawain remarks once the moment has passed and they are left in the dark of the forest.  
"It's cold," Gareth mumbles and his brother laughs.  
With nothing keeping them there they turn back and follow the path they made, winding their ways through the trees, reality cold and bleak in comparison to the wonder that they witnessed. Gareth trails along beside his brother, but he quickly tires and his footsteps grow weary. Soon he's dragging his feet through the snow, barely able to lift them and it seems that he will fall asleep standing. At this Gawain takes pity on the boy and hoists him over his shoulder and carries him as they walk back to their fire flickering softly in the distance.  
Gawain rests Gareth in front of his own saddle as Lancelot takes charge of the boy's horse as well as his own and they return through the forest. Following some path Gawain knew, passing under frosted boughs as Gareth sleeps on, and soon they can see the fires of Camelot still burning bright before them.  
"Why did you really come out here this night?" Lancelot asks at last.  
Gawain sighs but does not answer and the wind picks up for a moment and flutters the green silk that still rests around his arm. |   
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End file.
